


Beyond These Walls

by neriasuranas



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Angst, Disney AU, F/M, Fluff, Happy Ending, Tangled AU, this is very self indulgent and I'm sorry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-26
Updated: 2017-04-25
Packaged: 2018-10-24 03:57:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10733643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neriasuranas/pseuds/neriasuranas
Summary: Trapped within the walls of the tower she calls 'home', Neria Surana wants one thing above all else: to see the lights that appear once a year. However, a lifetime of learning to fear what awaits her outside the tower has kept her from pursuing it, until a strange man finds his way to her. Presented with what could be the only chance of freedom, Neria agrees to travel with him to the city of Denerim, desperate to see not only the lights she has become enamored with, but to see for herself if the world is truly as evil as she was taught.[Disney's Tangled AU!]





	Beyond These Walls

There were many things in the world that Mother Gothel had taught her to fear.

There was the chaos of the unknown, the demons that such a chaos would inevitably attract. There were the evil Templars, scouring the lands for mages so that they might strip them of their power and throw them away to rot in prison, suffering a crime that they did not choose to commit. Finally, there was the prospect of being found, of the desperate and the greedy that might someday discover their tower and all that she could do so that they might take her back to others like them. There was a reason, Gothel always told her, that she was to remain hidden. Here was the only place in the world she would be safe, all they had to do was stay hidden. Stay hidden and listen only to what she was told.

Don’t ask questions, don’t argue. Do as you’re told or the demons will come.

Neria knew to fear many things, and so she could only assume that her actions had been justified in hitting the unsuspecting man in the face with a frying pan.

She had panicked, and rightly so, when she heard the unfamiliar voice traveling across the stone walls of her home, and grabbed whatever was nearest to quietly investigate. At first, she thought perhaps Mother Gothel had brought a friend of some sort, but the Revered Mother was nowhere to be seen, just a man climbing through the trap door that Neria was forbidden to enter. He hadn’t seen her, but she doubted that it would have helped him respond quick enough to avoid being smacked in the back of the head with a heavy frying pan.

This had left her with a rather unique problem. The young elf paced back and forth in front of his body, glancing down every so often to ensure that his chest still rose and fell, the injury she had given him little more than a slight trickle of blood. Nervously, Neria tried to think of how best to handle the situation, whether she should simply push him back down the ladder or if she should keep him here. She could not deny her curiosity, however, and after a few terse seconds of pacing, she finally stepped a little closer, crouching down. The man, whoever he was, looked harmless enough, though Neria was certain that was purely because he was unconscious.

More so than any fear, however, stood a single question; how had he found her tower? Gothel surely would not have revealed their location on one of her many visits to the outside world, and as far as Neria was aware, they weren’t located in a place that was easy to find. It could be an accident, some sly trick of fate, but somehow she doubted that. In the last eighteen years, not a single person had managed to simply _find_ them, Gothel made sure of that. That only rose more questions, which in turn only created even more, and the elf clenched her eyes shut to try and keep herself from overthinking it too extensively. There was an easy way to find the answers to all these questions, and it was laying just in front of her. All she needed to do was ask.

Assuming she didn’t push him back down the ladder and be done with the man. Neria cringed a little at the thought of potentially harming someone like that. What if he hit his head? No, she should want to be rid of him, not paint his blood across her hands.

The problem was that she didn’t _quite_ want to be rid of this strange man.

Trembling slightly, she reached forward and poked at his cheek before pulling her hand back quickly. His head lolled to the side, but he did not stir, and she shakily exhaled breath she didn’t know had been held. Gothel had always warned her about the terror of men, how their teeth came to sharp points and eyes harsh enough to harm people with just a look. Whoever this man was, he looked nothing like those descriptions, and the longer she stared at him, the larger her curiosity grew. It would be at least another three days before the Revered Mother returned, and there could never truly be another chance like this; it couldn’t possibly be so bad if she were to ask him a few questions.

Her eyes trailed across the room, behind the trap door and behind the unconscious body. There, painted against the wall where the light would hit it every twilight, were the images of dozens of lights, dancing across the sky. Neria felt the tension drain a little from her shoulders, calmed as she ever was by the sight of that which she desired above all else. The lights, the stars, whatever they were. For the last four years now, they had appeared on a single summer night, taunting her, beckoning her closer. Every year, she planted herself at the window, watched with held breath as the first one slowly floated over the hills and forest that kept her hidden.

When they first appeared, she had been confused. Not stars, that much she was certain of, something else. But what? Mother Gothel wouldn’t even so much as come see for herself, barking at her to return to her studies if she had time to stargaze. When Neria painted it on the wall from memory the following morning, it had been written off, a dream. Every year, as lights beyond counting appeared one by one, Neria felt a warmth spread within her. For that small time, every anxious thought silenced and every tremble of her hands stilled as she was allowed a few moments’ peace. They were unlike anything she had ever known, magical in a way that books or paintings simply couldn’t describe.

‘Stars,’ Gothel told her. ‘You’ve allowed your imagination to get the better of you again.’

It had been the first time that Neria could recall simply not believing the Revered Mother. Never before had she had reason to doubt the woman’s words, but this? No, she was certain they were not stars. Neria had spent more than enough sleepless nights staring up at the sky to know what stars looked like, how they acted. Whatever those lights were, she had reasoned some days later, Gothel was wrong about them. She became enchanted from that moment forth, always there in the back of her mind; the first deviance from the familiar.

There was another, now, and she looked him over. What a fool she would be if she squandered this.

Mind settled, Neria stood up and grabbed his arm, dragging him across the floor as carefully as she could so as not to hurt him further. The armor made him heavy, clunky to try and move, but she was determined. Once he was where she wanted him, the elf released his arm and began to move quickly, pulling a chair from the desk and setting in firmly in the middle of the room. Once more, her eyes fell down on his body, biting her lip. There were so many things she wanted to ask him, so much that she could _learn_ from him, but still she hesitated. What if he overpowered her when he awoke? Flew into the rage that Gothel claimed all men were capable of? Neria shook her head, resolute in her decision not to allow her fears overpower her curiosity, not this time.

It wasn’t much of a plan, but tying him into the chair with rope was the only solution she could find. She wanted to talk to him, but would not trust him so much that she was complacent. Especially considering she had knocked him unconscious; what if he flew into a rage just because of that? Neria struggled to prop him onto the chair, though it was hardly surprising. He was probably a good foot taller than she was standing up, and the armor was heavier than she might have anticipated. After a bit of fight, she managed to get him slumped in the chair, head lolling down against his chest a little as she moved to grab the rope. Neria’s tying skills left more than a little to be desired, but she hoped that the sheer amount of times it had been wrapped around his body would work in her favor.

And now she waited.

At first, she tried to busy herself with other things, like reading or practicing magic. But he was _there_ , someone from the outside world, the very definition of breaking the familiar – and not a demon in sight. Neria was fascinated by this strange human, what his appearance might mean. There was the fear as well, lingering just beneath the surface of her amazement, reminding her of what could happen should she be found out, what happened to mages in the outside world. Gothel had so far been wrong about two things, and the longer she watched, the further convinced she grew that perhaps it was not _exactly_ as she had been taught.

What else had Mother Gothel lied about?

She brushed away blonde hair from her eyes, steering her thoughts back to the man before her, if perhaps she had hit him a little too hard. Or if she had done more damage than she initially thought. The small line of blood that had dripped down the side of his face appeared to have dried, but that didn’t mean more damage wasn’t hiding beneath his hair. Neria chewed on the inside of her lip, silently warring with herself on whether or not to simply heal the injury and be certain. If she was very lucky, maybe this was all a single trick of fate, not some Templar coming to drag her away. If she was not so lucky and chose to reveal her magic, she’d be inviting him to turn her in. Neria would not risk that. It would be better to assume the worst; that was what Mother Gothel always said.

Nervously, she paced back and forth in front of him, hands fidgeting with the sleeves of her robes, her worn down fingernails; anything to keep herself in motion. All logic screamed that she should be rid of him, push him back down the trapdoor and pull something heavy atop it so he’d have no choice but to leave. Neria was too curious, however. Too desperate to know the outside world in all the ways that Gothel had been denying her.

What did it feel like when it rained – truly, not just whatever could reach out the window? What did the grass smell of? The breeze? A river? What did the city sound like? Were the stories she read about them more accurate, or was it the less-than-flattering descriptions that Gothel brought home? Was it true that Templars and the Chantry robbed parents of their children at the first sign of magic? What happened to the children after? Were there a lot of elves around? What were they like?

Neria relaxed her expression, realizing that she had been biting down a little too hard on her bottom lip. So many things to ask, so much she could learn! Yet, she was unable to completely shake the feeling that this was a mistake. Gothel would be furious if she found out that she had broken almost every major rule laid out.

‘We have those rules for your safety, child,’ she would tell her. ‘Or would you like to be taken away? Is that what you want? To leave me all alone for the rest of my life?’

It was a conversation they’d had once before, the second time the lights appeared. Neria wanted to see them for herself, to prove to Gothel that they weren’t just stars or her imagination. The Revered Mother had been outraged at the very thought, and the evening ended with a lecture about the importance of obedience. Neria scowled a little at the memory, recalling how her eyes kept trailing to the window, the images of the lights still burned into her vision. Gothel would be so much more than furious if she ever found out. She tugged at the neck of her robes, once more wondering if it would be better to do as she commanded and rid herself of these wandering thoughts, just as she tried so many times before.

Perhaps this time would be more successful.

There was little more time to debate, however, as a noise from behind her caused the elf to jump slightly, scurrying behind the nearest cabinet. She could feel her heart racing, her hands trembling against the worn stone floor as she crouched, straining to hear better. There was a groan, the sounds of him becoming aware once more. “H-hello?” he called, voice shaking a little. Neria tried to suck in air, tried to breathe normally, but all she could manage were short, quick bursts that she associated with the beginning of an anxiety attack. “Is there someone here? Where am I?”

She closed her eyes, pulled into herself a little more. It had been easier to wait for this moment when it was nothing more than imagination; what was she was supposed to do now? Neria could hear him moving around, struggling against the poorly tied rope. He could escape, she realized, and if he escaped, he might go looking and what was she supposed to do if this strange man found her cowering behind the shelf? The elf took one final deep breath, forced herself to move a little, hidden still by the shadows. She tried to speak, but her voice came out raspy from lack of use, and she had to clear her throat once before it came out. “Why are you here?”

The noises from the other room paused, and Neria clutched the frying pan a little tighter. “I, uh, I’m not really sure where _here_ is,” the voice called back. “Where are you?”

“How did you find this place?” she called instead, flexing her hands against her makeshift weapon. “Where did you come from?”

Another scuffle of feet against the floor. Neria recoiled away from the edge of the cabinet, taking solace in the fact that he could not see her. “I was on my way to Denerim, I got separated from my traveling companions,” he called, voice dropping a little low. She chewed on the inside of her lip; could she trust him? She didn’t even know what a Denerim was, let alone where. “Did you hit me with something?” This question sounded more surprised than anything, almost contemplative.

“And what if I did?” she tried, cringing at the way her voice still shook. Neria wanted to sound strong, a force to reckoned with; not a child playing pretend.

“Not a very warm welcome,” the man said, voice dropping again so that she had to strain to hear him. “I mean you no harm, honest. I’ve answered your questions, and I’m no threat to you tied up like this, so will you come out now?”

In the back of her mind, Neria could hear Mother Gothel’s words, her lessons on the dangers of the unfamiliar, the demons that were sure to follow. No such demon had come bursting through the veil yet, however, and she glanced back up at the painting of the lights. If one deviance could bring her such joy, then it stood to reason that a second might be just as wonderful. Shaking still, she slowly rose from her crouch, gripping the handle of her frying pan so hard that her knuckles were drained of color. She tried to hold her chin up, tried not to show the fear that wracked her every hesitant movement as she stepped into the light, but her steps were hesitant, her hands trembling.

Blue eyes met hazel brown and Neria felt a burst of emotions in her chest – fear, fascination, anxiety, wonder. The man looked equally shocked to see her, and she watched as his throat bobbed slightly. “Who are you?” she asked, holding the cooking pan as if it were a weapon, ready to strike should he make any sudden movements. He seemed to guess what she was going for, hands opening in what appeared to be a sign of surrender.

“My name is Alistair,” he said, accompanied by a hesitant smile. “And you are?”

Neria looked him over, swallowed past the growing dryness in her throat. No, she would not give her name just yet, not until she could be sure. “What were you doing so far into the forest?” she said instead. Her hands were visibly shaking the pan, and she felt her pale cheeks darken with blush. He had already answered that. “Did the Templars send you?”

An expression she couldn’t quite name danced across his face for a second before he shook his head. “Why would the Templars send me out to the middle of the forest?” he asked instead. Neria only stared back at him, refusing to let him get the upper hand. “I – no. The Templars didn’t send me. I’m not one, either, if that’s why you’re worried.”

“I’m not worried.”

“Right,” he replied, drawing the vowel out. “You’ve yet to tell me your name, you know. And you already know so much about me.”

Neria clenched her jaw a little, confused. This man seemed awfully calm for one that was tied up and at her mercy. She wasn’t sure what to think, what to make of this strange human that had climbed her tower. “My name is Neria,” she finally said, straightening up her shoulders some. “And this is my home. You’ve trespassed.”

Alistair nodded, hands still open in his surrender. “I didn’t mean to,” he said. There was something sincere about the way he spoke, a cadence to his voice that very nearly lured her to lower the frying pan, to trust him. “I was trying to find my companions. Honest.” Neria didn’t answer for a few seconds, unsure why anyone would be traveling this way anyways. If there was a road nearby, she found it difficult to believe no one else had ever strayed from it to find this place. “You really live out here? All by yourself?”

“My mother lives here too.” Alistair rose an eyebrow and looked around, no doubt searching for signs of another person living her. “She…comes and goes,” Neria added, face flushing. “You’re lucky she isn’t here now, she would have been much harsher.”

The man chuckled a little, offering her up a slight grin. “Considering you haven’t killed me yet, I already consider myself rather lucky,” he informed her. This man was _nothing_ like what Mother Gothel insisted she would encounter. He seemed so…good natured. A ruse, Gothel would tell her, a means to trick and deceive. Something about this strange man reminded her of the old storybooks she used to read, starring dashing heroes and regal kings. Her cheeks darkened further, trying to banish any thought of some long forgotten prince stumbling his way to her tower. She was too old for those daydreams, too mature. “I am sorry for coming in unannounced,” Alistair added, clearing his throat. “If I had known people were living here, I would have at least knocked.”

Neria’s eyes narrowed a little. Was that some sort of a joke? “Will you answer some questions?” she asked instead, finally lowering her makeshift weapon. Alistair looked at her curiously, and she hoped that her ignorance did not show on her face.

“Isn’t that what I’ve been doing?” he asked first. Neria only stared back at him. “I can try,” he offered next, shifting a little in his seat. “Will you untie me? I promise I don’t bite.” The elf took a step away, frying pan immediately raising again in self-defense. Alistair’s eyes widened a little, and his hands opened in the same form of surrender he had given her. “Easy, easy,” he said quickly, shaking his head. “I promise I have no intention of hurting you.”

Every lesson that Gothel had even taught her told her that the very _last_ thing she should do was untie him. Gothel wasn’t here, however, and so far the man had proven her wrong on all accounts, so Neria slowly walked around him, awkwardly tugging on her weak knots until they fell to the floor. “If you try anything,” she said, pointing at him with the frying pan, “I will use this.” She could have threatened to use magic, could have promised that she’d throw him right from the nearest window, but Neria still wasn’t sure if she should yet reveal her gifts to this man.

He nodded, rubbing at spaces between armor on his arms for a moment. “I won’t,” he said, the same sort of promise in his voice as the last one. “What did you want to know?”

_Everything,_ she nearly said. There were so many things to ask, so many questions that Neria had been carrying along since she was old enough to understand all the things she didn’t know. A new thought had come to her, as soft as ever but persistent. Perhaps if this Alistair could teach her more about the world outside her tower, Gothel would be more willing to let her leave. Not forever, and certainly not on her own, but if she had a better understanding of the world, was more prepared to face it, then how could she truly say no? “What is Denerim?” she started, slowly moving away from him. Alistair, to his credit, did not move from the chair, only turned to face her as she got settled elsewhere. “Why were you going there?”

“You haven’t heard of Denerim?” he asked in return. She didn’t answer, and he only nodded. “Right. Well, it’s the capital of Ferelden. You’ve heard of that, haven’t you?”

“Of course. It’s where we are, the country. So Denerim is the capital. Is that where the king and queen live?”

Alistair nodded. “King Cailan and Queen Anora, right,” he said. “As for why I was traveling there, the Grey Wardens go every year to partake in the festivities.” Neria tilted her head a little to the side. “The anniversary of King Cailan’s coronation?” he tried. “How long have you been up here, anyways?” Neria shifted a little. Should she tell him? This wasn’t about _her_ , it was about what he could teach her.

“Is it true that demons and chaos rule the land?” she said instead, leaning forward a little. Part of her almost hoped that he confirmed it. Told her that she was the only truly fortunate person left, locked away and hidden from the turmoil; if only so that the last eighteen years weren’t all a lie.

“While that does sound a bit rather like Kirkwall, I think someone may have exaggerated a few things,” Alistair said with a slight frown. “Most places are relatively calm, actually. Minus the occasional political struggle, but those are mostly in Orlais.” He listed off places so casually, names of places that Neria could only remember from a book’s map, or mention in a story or piece of history. Had he been there, seen Kirkwall and Orlais? Everything he said only brought more questions, and the elf felt her leg start to bounce a little with excitement.

Even the news that the world was not some unpredictable hell had not been enough to fully curb the emotions that she felt. There _was_ more out there. Not just demons and Templars, but a world! One with politics and Kirkwall’s and Orlais’s, whatever those might be. “If not the demons, then who rules?” she asked, cheeks flushing.

He must think her an idiot, ignorant of so much. If he did, Alistair did not show it. “Humans, mostly. Why would demons rule?”

Neria shifted a little, hand clenching against her leg. “Mother Gothel said that the chaos of so many people doing so many different things attracted them,” she admitted, flexing her other hand against the frying pan again. “But it’s not…it isn’t like that? Truly?”

“I suppose it is possible that the King is secretly a spirit of glory or something,” Alistair said thoughtfully. Neria felt her eyes widen, body tensing for a second before he quickly backtracked. “Kidding! I was kidding,” he told her, shaking his head. “I apologize, don’t hit me with that pan again. No, the world isn’t run by demons. They are _attracted_ to strong emotion, however, but only the most powerful break through the Veil. It’s very rare.”

Slowly, Neria nodded. Gothel would tell her that she was too oblivious to the world, and that was why she was so ready to trust this man and his strange jokes. In the short time he had been awake, however, Alistair had thrown to the wayside several of Gothel’s lessons; the fact that no demon had attacked was enough proof. There were more things coming to mind, now, questions from earlier. The grass, the rain, all of it. What was it _like_? Neria started to ask, but stopped, running her thumbs across the gritty handle. She didn’t want to be told those things, she wanted to experience it herself. Somehow, asking this stranger things like _what does the grass smell like_ felt foolish now. She didn’t need to know what grass smelled like to survive in the world. If she truly wanted Gothel to believe that she was ready to leave the tower, then she would need to keep childish questions to herself.

“Do you know what the lights are?”

The question slipped from her lips like a sigh, a reverence like the way Gothel spoke of Andraste and the Maker. Alistair asked her to elaborate, and Neria wasted no more time moving across the floor, frying pan still in hand as she climbed up onto the ledge where her painting was. “These. The lights. They come every year, but just for the last four, and just once a year,” she said, trailing her fingers across some of the paint.

“Oh, you mean the lanterns,” Alistair said after a second. “It’s part of the festivities I mentioned. Because King Cailan became king after his father went missing, he sets them off every anniversary.” Neria’s eyes widened, looking between him and the painting. Lanterns. Lanterns, not stars, not _nothing_ like Gothel kept insisting. “The festival is tomorrow night.”

“I know,” the elf said softly, finally tearing her eyes away to look back at Alistair. He still had not moved, not even an inch, and she was grateful for that. There was another question burning, trying to claw its way out of her chest, but she refused. Neria was not so naïve, not so foolish to think that she could trust this man not to lead her astray. Questions were fine, but to be led out into the unknown…

For a few seconds, she remained quiet, the questions running dry. There were always so many, ringing in the back of her mind loud enough to deafen her, but now that she finally had the chance to ask any of them, nothing seemed to come to mind. “So, tell me, you’ve been up in this tower for your entire life?” Alistair said instead, clearing his throat.

Neria hesitated, running her hand across the painted surface once more before it fell limply to her side. “I have,” she finally said, not looking at him.

“May I ask why?”

“The world is dangerous,” she repeated, shrugging a little. “Full of demons and chaos.”

Alistair said nothing for a few minutes, and Neria hopped back down off the ledge. She wished she could think of more questions, a reason to keep him here, and her eyes trailed across the room with the hope that something might jog her memory. “What are the Grey Wardens?” she asked finally as her eyes drew across him. He was wearing blue and silver armor, with some sort of strange animal pressed into the breastplate. Neria guessed that the animal had something to do with whatever these Wardens were, but she worried that asking might be offensive, as if her own ignorance might upset the man.

Instead, he perked up a little at the question, a smile coming to his face. “We’re the ones that used to fight darkspawn!” he told her happily. “You know, like the legends?”

“Oh, I know this one. The darkspawn caused the Blights,” Neria said proudly, taking a seat across the room from him. Alistair grinned, and this time, she couldn’t help but return it. She had read stories of the Blights, though they were mostly historical texts that Gothel found for her. “But I thought the Grey Wardens were gone now that the darkspawn were defeated.”

“Not entirely,” Alistair said. His chest puffed out a little, back straightened. He was proud of this, Neria assumed, and she felt her smile widen a little. “The darkspawn aren’t _entirely_ gone, not really. The archdemons are, so that’s good. Unfortunately, the Deep Roads are still crawling with the blighted creatures, so the we exist to try and kill them off for good.” He spoke with a sense of awe which she recognized; it was the same one she had carried with her just moments ago. “I’m still pretty new, I only joined a few months ago.”

Neria tilted her head to the side, curious as to how one joined the Grey Wardens. “You said that Denerim has a festival?” she asked instead, not wanting to let herself get fixated on a topic. Not when there was so much to learn.

Alistair nodded. “Every year. You know, dancing and good food. The King and Queen come out and speak with the people, try and pretend like the whole thing isn’t because Cailan’s father went missing,” he explained with a slight shrug. Neria nodded, biting down on her lip to keep her smile from spreading. The lights were supposed to be a somber occasion, a way to mourn for the lost King. No matter how hard she tried to remind herself, however, she could not shake the feelings that they had given her all these years. “It’s, uh, more of a happy festival than a mournful one. You know, to celebrate his coronation. The King’s never been very subtle,” he added quickly, rubbing the back of his head. “Then, come nightfall, they send out the lanterns.”

“Have you seen them for yourself?” she asked then, leaning forward. If she couldn’t see them up close, perhaps a firsthand account might appease her curiosity. “The lights, I mean. The lanterns.”

“Of course,” Alistair told her with a nod. “It’s kind of a big deal in Ferelden.”

Neria tapped her fingers against her leg, unable to keep still. “What are they like?”

Alistair looked at her for a second before leaning back, rubbing his knuckles against his jaw while he considered. A few times, he opened her mouth and then closed it, as if struggling to find the right way to describe it. Neria waited a little impatiently, switching between pulling at the sleeves of her robes and tapping her fingers. “Bright,” he finally said, reaching around to rub the back of his neck. “Especially on the water, where it’s all around you. Warm, too.” It wasn’t the description that she had been hoping for, but perhaps when she sat on the windowsill to watch them, she could close her eyes and imagine being in the middle of it all. Lanterns surrounding her, flames flickering as they rose up to the sky; would it reflect on the water’s surface?

Neria bit her lip again, smoothing down the skirts of her robes. “Maybe one day Mother will let me see them,” she said softly, hoping that her voice did not carry far. Her cheeks burned a little with the admission, and Neria quickly shook her head. She wanted to ask more questions, not wallow in her own self-pity, but the more she thought about it, the more she was compelled to ask, to beg this strange man to take her to see them. Another fantasy, another impossible wish to be buried down where Mother Gothel would never find.

“I can take you to see them, if you want.”

Neria’s head shot back towards him, blue eyes wide in surprise and anxiety. Her mouth opened and closed a few times before she finally settled on what to say. “Why would you do that?” She asked, voice suspicious as she gripped the handle of her frying pan and tried to ignore how the sweat from her hands was making it a little slippery. Alistair was watching her closely, and Neria wished that she was closer so that she might better determine what it was flickering across his eyes. “How can I know to trust you?”

A smile spread across his tanned face. “Because you want to see the festival,” he said plainly. “And since you didn’t kill me, I think I owe you a safe journey. Isn’t that reason enough?”

It should be. It should be, but Neria shook her head, hands twitching against each other. A trap, Gothel whispered in her ear, trust nothing. “Mother Gothel says I’m not to leave,” she said slowly, looking away. “I’ve already broken enough rules, and if something were to – to happen out there, she’d never forgive me.”

“Aren’t you at all curious what she’s been keeping from you all these years?”

Neria tensed. Yes, yes of course she had been curious. All she had ever been was curious. Every day was the same; wake up, do the chores, study, practice, study, practice, eat, more study. No shift from the familiar, nothing but the same monotony of following rules. Don’t do this, don’t ask questions. Seemed as if the more Gothel reminded her not to ask questions, the more she had. “I,” she started to say, forcing herself to focus on Alistair, on the situation at hand and not the myriad of one-off’s that Gothel had beaten into her.

He was on his feet, but hadn’t moved closer, hands in the air. “When will your mother be back next?” he asked softly.

The question only caused her to further tense, immediately suspicious of why he might care. Did he want to know how much time he’d have to convince her? Drag her back to Denerim or some other place and feed her to the Templars? Neria swallowed, tried to ease the dryness in her throat. He seemed so genuine, and she had to remind herself that he had thus far done nothing to indicate that he might harm her. “Three days, at least.”

“That’s perfect,” Alistair told her with a laugh. “We can get to the festival and back here before she even notices you were gone.” Despite herself and every warning that now rung in her ears, Neria could not help perking up a little at the idea. “We were only about a day’s walk from Denerim when we were separated, I’m sure we can’t be too far off,” he added quickly. “Think of it as my way of saying thank you for not hitting me harder with that frying pan.”

Neria grinned a little despite her trepidation, glancing down at it. “You’d stay with me?” she asked hesitantly, heart pounding. Was she actually considering this? It seemed too much to even hope for, all of it. This had to be some sort of dream; these things didn’t just _happen_. Neria had spent her childhood daydreaming about a dashing prince that stumbled upon her home, swept her away in a flurry of horses and wedding bells as he defeated the evil witch that kept her locked away. Just like the storybooks, the ones that Gothel confiscated and replaced with more of the Chant, with books on the dangers of magic. Anything and everything to stamp out any thoughts of a life outside.

“Of course,” Alistair promised, pressing a hand against his chest. “And if we come across any of those pesky demons you’re worried about, I’ll take care of them.”

Alistair would stay with her. He would lead her safely to Denerim, keep her from harm. Neria could still hear Gothel whispering in the back of her mind, soft promises of retribution should she break the most important of rules. Without thinking, she had turned back towards the painting, traced with her eyes the blotchy lights – _lanterns_ – that she had once so desperately smeared across the stone. It had faded over time, but the brilliance of what she had seen could never have been captured well enough in mere paint anyways.

Just for a few days, she reasoned. To Denerim and back. She’d be home and studying before Gothel was any the wiser.

“Neria?”

She turned back to him, realizing belatedly that she had been staring a little too long at the painting. Her cheeks flushed, and she quietly mumbled an apology. “It’s alright,” Alistair told her with an easy smile. “What do you say? Would you like to see the lights?”

“Yes,” Neria said without hesitation, the confirmation nearly bursting out of her. Her face felt hot, and she looked away to try and hide it. She took a deep breath, glancing towards the window. Soon, she might know for herself what all those things felt like; the grass and the rain and the sounds. What if they weren’t everything she had been imagining? Would that be a bad thing, or perhaps better? The world was so much smaller inside her tower, the walls equal parts a cage and protection. For what was not the first time, Neria let herself imagine what it might be like to not just smell the grass, but to feel it against her feet, to lay on the ground and see nothing but an endless sky and know that the world was _real_.

She heard something move beside her and turned quickly, frying pan half raised again. Alistair had taken a few steps forward, hands still up in the air to show that he meant her no harm, but he stopped when she turned. There were so many things to consider, so much to worry and fret over, but for right now, only two things truly came to mind.

Neria wanted to see the lights, more so than she had ever wanted anything else in the world, and, never again would there be an opportunity to see them.

Mother Gothel would never not allow her to leave, no matter how prepared Neria made herself. “You promise to get me back safely?” she asked suddenly, ignoring the way her hands were shaking, lowering her pretend weapon again. “No demons or Templars?”

If he was confused about the mention of Templars, Alistair refrained from showing it. “No demons, and definitely no Templars,” he promised, offering his hand to her. Neria looked down at it curiously, eyes flickering between his outstretched palm and his eyes. There was nothing in his palm that she could see, and the gesture made little sense. “It’s, ah, you know, a handshake? To seal the deal so to speak?” Alistair explained, clearing his throat. “You take my hand, then we shake in agreement.”

“Shake in agreement?” Neria repeated. He was still a few steps away, arm in the air between them. Cautiously, she stepped forward, keeping her grip tight on the frying pan with her left hand as the right slowly rose to meet his. Alistair was warm to the touch, and at first contact, Neria felt her hand twitch away a little before slowly pressing against his. Her eyes met his and tried to ignore the way his smile made her blush a little, the handshake just a quick sort of motion with their hands before pulling away. “Do people do that a lot? Shake in agreement?” she asked, flexing her fingers a little at her side.

“That would depend on the situation,” he explained, stepping away. He was taller than she would have imagined. Neria could see no sort of insincerity in his eyes as he grinned, and she felt her shoulders relax under the thought. “We should probably head out soon,” Alistair said, glancing at the window. “Assuming we aren’t too far from the road, we should be able to make it about halfway to Denerim before nightfall.”

Neria looked out the window as well, heart stuttering in her chest. They were leaving, _she_ was leaving, truly and genuinely. “Can I have a moment?” she asked softly. “To grab a few things, I mean.”

“Of course.”

She didn’t waste another second before turning on her heel and making her way through the room and towards a narrow staircase. Her bedroom was mostly bare, save for a few books and other keepsakes that Gothel had brought home from her travels. Neria stopped just inside the room, looking at the familiar patterns in the rug, the neatly made bed, the aged charcoal drawings on the walls. For her entire life, this had been the only home she’d ever known, the only _place_ she was meant to be. Neria knew this room and every other room in the tower, could navigate the halls and around the furniture with her nose buried in a book. Gothel preached the importance of keeping to the familiar as often as possible, and while Neria had had her doubts, there was no denying how comfortable it all felt.

Perhaps she had not always agreed with the teachings that the Revered Mother had, but she had been safe. Warm, fed. It was more than some could say, if Gothel was telling the truth about the city.

If she left this room, left this tower, would she ever truly be able to return to the familiar?

Neria always told herself that if she could only spend one day outside, she’d never need another. One day out there, to simply experience what life could be like for others, and she’d be happy. Neria didn’t need more than that. She closed her eyes, images of blurry lights that lazily danced across the sky, the changing colors of the grass as a breeze rippled through it; all the things that she had been denied in her life, just a trip down the ladder.

They were moments which she had been dreaming about her entire life, and all Neria could do in the wake of possibility was hide away in her bedroom. She opened her eyes, took a single deep breath to steady herself, and then turned back on her heel, not bothering to grab anything after all.

Alistair was right where she had left him, looking around the main room of her tower with a sort of curiosity that she didn’t know how to place. The sight of him standing there made her stomach swoop, and Neria realized that a part of her had expected him to be gone when she returned. “Alistair?” she called softly, pausing at the bottom of the small staircase. He turned around quickly to face her, eyes wide for a second before softening.

“Are you ready?”

Neria nearly laughed at the question. Was she ready? Would she ever truly be ready? There was so much to be taken on faith, so much that she simply would have to trust this stranger about, an entire world she had been taught to fear waiting for them. Her life had been spent learning to fear, to _hide_ , and for the very first time, a chance had presented itself to do something different – to do the only thing she had ever wanted in life.

She had been ready to leave the moment the first lantern took to the sky, she realized.

“I’m ready.”

**Author's Note:**

> hello everyone! I've had this idea floating around for a few months, and I was finally able to start writing it! I'm going to try and make sure I update it at least once a month, if not a little sooner, depending on how busy work keeps me. It won't be extremely long, I don't think, but I hope you like it all the same!
> 
> feel free to come bug me on [tumblr](http://thewardencomander.tumblr.com/) if you have any questions or just want to scream about Dragon Age with me!  
> 


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